Fire and Treachery
by hawkeye92
Summary: A warhammer 40k fanfic following a small division of imperial troops who discover that they're fighting on the wrong side. A/N I do not own anything that GW has copyrightred, and this is my first fanfic.
1. Prologue

_A/N: I don't own anything copyrighted by Games workshop._

_As this is my first attempt at a fanfic, any comments would be appreciated_

Medusa V. This small planet in the eastern fringes of the galaxy resounded to the marching boots of millions of soldiers, fighting and dying at their master's whims. The sorry tale of this entire planet is not for here, and this story contains the tale of only one small faction.

The Medusa war came as a shock to the Imperium's armies, and troops were drawn from far and wide, responding to the call for arms.

One such system was that of Culverinia, a relatively minor cluster of planets in the far western halo, only notable for the minor forgeworld as the first planet.

Upon finding a full ten regiments standing idle in this system, the officers of Medusa V were quick to draft in the regiments to fight for their cause.

Somewhat unfortunately, the Culverinian military organisation is structured differently to the rest of the Imperium. Each regiment, or 'division' as they are known locally, consist of ten thousand troopers with supporting armour, logistics and air support.

As such, the active Culverinian armies have one million soldiers, and hundreds of thousands of supporting personnel. At the time of the war, the Culverinian system had no hope of being able to transport their entire army to Medusa, even with their custom super transports constructed in the extensive shipyards above Culverinia 2.

Even so, the Culverinians responded to the call to war, and dispatched the second division, specialists in siege and city warfare.


	2. Chapter 1

Far above the tortured planet of Medusa, in the relative peace of deep space, the war still held sway.

The bridge of the Imperial Armageddon class Battle cruiser _pious_ shook as another explosion ripped through the ship.

Captain Morganus, grizzled veteran of many battles, pulled himself to his feet using his command throne.

The main lighting had gone out, and was replaced by the blood light of the secondary systems. A number of the servitors hard wired into the command consoles slumped destroyed, some small electrical fires crackled from the damaged machinery.

"Damage report!" Morganus barked.

A junior officer peered over the shoulder of one of the remaining servitors.

"We've taken extensive damage on our starboard side. Starboard lances destroyed. Starboard batteries have taken 50 damage. Engineering reports that we've lost starboard manoeuvring thrusters and the shields have been overloaded."

Morganus grimaced at the news. His ship was badly damaged, and unprotected. Another volley and the cruiser would fall apart.

His hatred rose as he watched the crude outline of the Kill Cruiser sweep past his stricken vessel.

The Orks had attacked without warning. The _Pious'_ escorts had been obliterated piecemeal by small Ork attack craft that swept round the asteroid field and attacked from the rear. Although the Imperial escorts were wiped out, they died heroically, blunting the attack and letting the _Pious_ annihilate the Ork escorts as they made their suicidal attack runs.

Then the Kill Cruiser and a Terror ship followed in, and hammered the _Pious_ into submission.

Morganus' rage now knew no bounds. He would not let his proud ship be destroyed by a rabble of greenskins.

"All speed ahead!" He roared "Ram them!"

The crew looked at him for a moment, but turned back to their posts with renewed determination, sharing their captain's will to destroy the foul xenos.

The fractured frame of the _Pious_ groaned in protest as the ancient engines fired up to their maximum. The leviathan of the stars roared after the Ork ship, fire and vapour billowing from the starboard side making it appear as though an angel of vengeance was bearing down on the enemy.

"You might want to hold onto something" The captain growled through gritted teeth, as the Kill Cruiser loomed large in the view ports.

The impact was titanic. The armoured prow of the _Pious_ bit deep into the enemy ship's midsection, tearing masses of armour, gunz and assorted metal from the Ork ship, which spiralled away in a cloud of debris.

Despite the horrendous damage, the Ork vessel powered away, tearing itself from the _pious_, removing a large chunk of the prow as it did so.

Captain Morganus was devastated. His last ditch attempt to do as much damage as he could had failed. Now the two Ork cruisers were circling like wolves around a crippled animal. The one remaining lance on the _pious_ fired again and again, but couldn't penetrate the enemy ship's shields long enough to do any lasting damage.

Suddenly, a console bleeped loudly, indicating that more ships had been detected.

The battered ensign gave the report.

"Ships dropping out of warp in close proximity. 11 Unidentified ships, with an escort of… A Despoiler class battleship, two desolators and numerous pre heresy pattern cruisers."

Captain Morganus seemed to sag in his command throne. He knew full well that such a force was easily going to sweep the Ork forces and his own away, and cause significant damage to the Imperial forces in the Medusa system.

"Emperor save our souls." He muttered.

"Sir! The IFF shows that they're broadcasting a valid friendly ID signal!" The ensign cried.

The Culverinian fleet moved into action with commendable speed. The long ranged weapon batteries of the Desolator took out the shields of the Kill Cruiser, and the Despoiler class carrier moved in on a direct course, firing its horrifying massed lances forward.

The titanic lasers ripped into the Ork ship with ease, carving huge pieces of wreckage. With internal explosions torturing its frame, the Kill Cruiser fell apart, disintegrating in a series of shattering explosions.

Seeing the destruction of its companion, the remaining Terror ship turned to flee, but a pair of Capital ships, Repulsive grand cruisers, gave chase.

The battle grey vessels slowly closed with the Ork ship, and simultaneously launched torpedoes at the retreating ship.

Slamming into the rear of the ship, the massed torpedo barrage completely destroyed the engines and rear of the Terror ship in a pattern of colossal fireballs as the plasma warheads detonated.

Left drifting and on fire, the Ork cruiser was helpless as the pair of grand cruisers pulled alongside and opened fire.

The thunderous barrage covered the entire ship with flames, and the crude Ork construction disintegrated a cloud of debris.

On the bridge of the _Pious_ the command crew had watched the scene in awe.

"The lead ship is hailing us"

"Put them through" Morganus ordered, and the veiwscreen lit up, showing an officer in dark red carapace armour and grey fatigues. He looked only about 30, but already had the steely expression of one who has seen entire worlds burn, often from the surface.

"This is Colonel Varus speaking on behalf of Battlefleet Culverinia. Your ship appears to be heavily damaged, do you require assistance?"

"We would be grateful if you could tow us back to what's left of the orbital docks. Our manoeuvring thrusters were heavily damaged in that engagement, and we can't turn easily." Morganus replied "I must say your fleet's actions were most impressive. Battlefleet Culverinia, you say?"

"We hail from the western halo. I doubt anyone out here would have heard of us, but we're pretty much the only military force in our entire sector." Varus said.

"Well, it's good to have you on our side" Morganus complimented.

Colonel Varus stared out of one of the large windows of the command deck, watching a cruiser link up with the _Pious_ to tow it to safety.

A squadron of starfighters swept past, a group from the Despoiler's vast hangar bays.

Swarm _was an apt, if somewhat crude name for this ship_ Varus thought.

He sighed, knowing that within a matter of days he would have to lead his men into a hellish warzone, and that many of them wouldn't be coming back.

He looked across the _swarm's_ command deck, watching the various fleet officers scurrying from station to station. Unlike the dark gloomy interior of other Imperial warships, the _Swarm_ had bright functional spaces, and all the wires and such were hidden behind panels.

The servitors had also been replaced by logic engines the local forge world had developed.

"You seem troubled."

Varus looked around, and saw the person who asked the question was Field Marshal Liverchester. This man was just on the wrong side of fifty, but still strong and built like a tank. Liverchester truly was a grizzled veteran, and sported a long scar across his face almost as proudly as the various medals festooning his chest.

The field marshal was posted as a political officer, to fill the gap left by a commissar, due to the immense distances between the Schola Progenium and Culverinia.

However, because Liverchester had fought in the army for most of his professional career, it was doubtful if he could summarily execute officers on the battlefield.

"I'm going to be shuttling over to the transport ship soon, and I wonder sometimes why we have to send so many young men and women to their deaths on worlds so distant." Varus explained.

"That's heresy, you know" warned Liverchester, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Who really cares? All I want to know is what piece of emperor forsaken rock we're going to have to fight over. I would like to know where we're being sent to die, you know." Varus replied bitterly.

"Look at yourself! You know that you're the best commander we've got out here, and the men know that too. You're not going to get them all killed! I'm ordering you to get as many people back home as you can, and you're not going to do that by moping around feeling sorry for yourself!" Liverchester thundered.

Varus looked as though he'd just been slapped, and jerked out of his reverie.

"Thanks, friend. I don't know what happened there, I just…."

"Look, everyone needs help sometimes."

Varus nodded and walked off of the bridge.


	3. Chapter 2

The super transports were big. They dwarfed the heavy tankers and cargo vessels linking up with the Battlefleet at the jump point. The size of a battleship, they appeared like gigantic versions of the smaller tankers; a bridge section and a central 'spine' connecting the engine block. The vast space between is modular, but has a titanic armoured sheath that covers the cargo modules, making the ship look like its permanently carrying a metal barrel.

At the moment, housed inside this armour were troop barracks and landing craft. Each transport had two landers, each the size of a large escort and capable of carrying 5,000 men each with attendant artillery, tanks and aircraft squadrons.

The lander, once on the surface, could operate within the atmosphere, where it could act as a mobile flying fortress where it's awesome shielding and down facing firepower could be used to devastate enemy hardpoints and armies.

Ten of the transport craft were organised in this way, but the eleventh had one module filled with ammunition, spare parts, tools, prefab entrenchments and the solid logistics needed to keep many thousands of soldiers and tanks functioning, and the other module was filled with fuel for the older vehicles and for the legendary Culverinian airforce.

Colonel Varus was in one of these transports, looking from the barrack section of the module down to the landing craft in its mooring slung beneath the barracks. Tens of boarding gantries connected the lander to the barracks, and Varus watched as men walked through these gantries to their holding stations.

Shuttles flew in through a small gap in the armour, carrying other senior officers from their individual warships to the troops, and the small craft buzzed around the vast space inside the armour, looking like flies next to the gigantic landers.

Varus took his place in the queue with his command squad. He had known each personally for many years, and they had saved each other countless times on the battlefield. Troopers Smith and Golain pushed a trolley carrying two crates marked with various hazard symbols. Within were the troopers' weapons; a plasma and melta gun. The others carried their weapons slung over their shoulders or in holsters.

As the squad made it to the entrance to the gantry, everyone, including Varus, had to help lift the trolley over a small step, with much grunting and cursing. Special weapons are heavy.

The group made their way to planetfall stations. Everyone was strapped into a crash seat in case of the craft taking evasive manoeuvres or crashing. Weapons and ammunition were broken out of crates and packed into pouches in webbing or placed in slings beside the seats.

Liverchester was absent. He would arrive on the surface by personal shuttle later. There were a few luxuries he was granted as political officer that he took advantage of.

The fleet arrived above Medusa without incident, and the transports moved into position above the main continent. The armoured doors protecting the transport modules started to open, red lights blinking on the edges of the armour. Boarding gantries and fuel lines were withdrawn, leaving the landers only connected by the massive clamps on the roof of the barrack module.

Releasing several ice crystals into the void, the clamps holding the landing craft in the first transport released. Varus felt the shudder as the craft came free. And mentally prepared himself for the landing.

The landers dropped slowly out of the cargo bay, angling nose down towards the planets surface. As soon as they were clear, the landing ships fired up their engines and plunged towards the surface. Friction built up quickly and the external plates glowed and each craft was surrounded in a corona of fire. The ships reached the atmosphere at the poles, and began a steady but slow descent at an immense speed. Troops on the front looked up and saw a pair of daytime shooting stars as the ships lost altitude.

They extended airbrakes and slowed down rapidly, putting high G forces on the crew and passengers. After what seemed like an age, the landers came to a stop, hovering at high altitude.

Switching to atmospheric mode, the passengers released themselves from their harnesses and made ready to land.

Elsewhere on the ships, aircrew ran to their planes and gunners took their stations, opening the thick gun ports and rolling out massive cannons to point at the ground below. About ten minutes to the drop zone, the hangar doors retracted, and the squadrons of Lightning fighters tilted down in their launch ramps and firing up their engines.

All of a sudden, the fighters were released, dropping out of the landers and flying away, to cover the landing zone.

All this show of military power was unnecessary, because the landing zone was well protected anyway, but the Culverinians had rehearsed this kind of landing countless times, and if enemy reconnaissance was watching, it would help deter any possible attack when the armies were at their most vulnerable.

With a gentle shudder, the vast ship touched down, and the vast ramps dropped. Thousands of men charged out of the open whale-mouth and made a perimeter as they had rehearsed. Following the infantry, waves of armoured vehicles rumbled out, this followed by the mobile artillery that the second division was famed for.

Half of the troops deployed in one day, the rest was kept in the far reaches of the system, and would relieve the soldiers on the ground in a week.

The Culverinians marched the five mile stretch from the landing zones to the Mortise line, protecting the Edethor zone from the Tyranids inhabiting the Mortise desert. The Culverinians were tasked with holding a ten mile stretch of this fortification against all comers.

Given the discipline of the soldiers, the entire stretch of line was occupied and covered by tanks and artillery within a day.


	4. Chapter 3

Over the coming week, the Tyranids attacked the line many times in varying numbers. Each time they attacked, they were repulsed by heavy bolters and artillery. However on the eighth day, the monsters attacked in vast numbers.

Varus woke early and left the dug out to inspect the trench line. The trench was large, by most standards, and troopers in their red armour and grey fatigues were standing on the firing step looking out on sentry over no mans land or crouched in the bottom of the trench cooking the contents of their ration packs over fusion burners.

Each squad had a heavy bolter, the favoured weapon for siege battles, and these heavy weapons were installed in fixed points along the line with plenty of rounds to hand.

The others had to rely on their trusty red lasguns and the support of their comrades to destroy the enemy. The Culverinians of the second division were no strangers to close fighting, and the fifth battalion, Varus' own, was famed for taking out monsters with nothing more than bayonets with some guts behind them.

The shelling had maintained a constant beating for the last twelve hours. The horizon was nothing more than orange and smoke. Every so often, a spotter plane would fly overhead, relaying targeting information to the gunners on the ground.

The vox net came alive with chatter, reports coming in that some of the Tyranids had broken through the artillery barrage and were running towards the trenches. Varus used his helmet comm set to patch in to his radio man's vox caster, and ordered the close air support units to scramble immediately.

"All units, battle stations!" He ordered into the vox unit.

A guardsman came running down the trench. His uniform was strikingly different to the Culverinians' as he wore colours suited for desert environments, compared to the Cadians' green and the Culverinian red.. He was a member of the Gohrod 6th regiment, the unit holding the line to the south of the Culverinians.

Spotting Varus in his ornate battledress, he stopped, and threw a hurried salute.

"Sir, they're breaking through. My captain just got an emergency wire from HQ saying that if we retreat, we'll all be killed, and also for all units under attack to switch to channel 213 for communication."

"Thank you, trooper. Now get back to your post."

At that moment, the light field artillery opened fire. The Thudd guns in the support trenches spat out streams of shells, and observers saw gaunts and genestealers blasted to pieces in their dozens, littering the ground with dismembered limbs and ichor, but still they came in vast numbers.

Varus checked his power sword and laspistol, and at that moment the distinctive bark of heavy bolters rattled up and down the line.

Bolter rounds slammed into the seething mass of Tyranids, high calibre bullets punching into the aliens and exploding, literally tearing the creatures apart in sprays of ichor and fragments of bone.

The troopers started firing their lasguns, filling the air with needle lasers. The lasguns burned through the gaunts, but many hit the larger genestealers but did not hurt them.

A lone genestealer made it to the line, and leapt into the trench. A surprised guardsman looked up in horror, just as the creature's head exploded like overripe fruit. Varus lowered his laspistol.

"Keep shooting!" he ordered.

Larger creatures started moving with the lesser creatures, and started shooting at the line. A guardsman fell screaming as something hit him and started burning through his armour. His sergeant reacted quickly, pulling off the trooper's flak armour and drew his combat knife, digging the burrowing ammunition out of the soldier's flesh.

The trooper screamed in agony and his blood started staining the concrete.

"Stretcher bearers" The sergeant called, packing the trooper's wound with the contents of the squad's med-kit.

There was a rumble as the tanks moved up to counter this new threat. Demolisher siege tanks started firing, reducing the warriors to splinters of chitin and splashes of ichor with their heavy siege cannons.

Liverchester ran along the line, giving encouragement to the troops. He was at the northern end of the Culverinian line, where defence was taken over by the resolute Cadians.

Liverchester had admiration for the Cadians. They weren't nearly as well equipped or supported, but they fought anyway, knowing full well they could die. As he watched, several men were hit by living ammunition that burrowed into them. They fell from the firing step and died convulsing and screaming, but their comrades stood firing, not giving them a second glance.

Liverchester had befriended the nearby junior officer, and had learnt that the Cadians knew they were expendable, and that to die in the service of the emperor was the most rewarding thing they could ever achieve.

The ground shook, and a Carnifex thundered across the trench. A Cadian Leman Russ fired its main gun at point blank range, and scored a direct hit. The Carnifex staggered back, with a crater in its chest and thick ichor dripping from the wound. Then it roared and lunged forwards, plunging a massive talon deep into the tank and flipped it over like it was a toy. The commander jumped clear and hit the ground running as it was tossed over. The Carnifex slashed at the tank's vulnerable underside and then the vehicle exploded.

The Cadians and a few Culverinians in range, started firing at the beast, but it seemed to only attract its attention to the trench. Although the fortification was wide, the Carnifex filled up the entire space, and turned into a biological death machine. A few hardy Cadians rushed the monster with bayonets, but got torn apart. Others tried to flee, being slaughtered as they ran.

One soldier was skewered through the chest and flung into the air, to land at Liverchester's feet.

The doomed soldier grabbed the Field Marshal's trouser leg and gasped

"Help….Me…" before coughing up copious amounts of blood and dying.

The junior officer dashed up behind the Carnifex and smashed at the creature's thorax with his power fist and hit the monster with bone shattering force. The Tyranid bellowed in pain and impaled the officer with both of its claws, stabbing through the officer's carapace armour as if it were made of paper. The Carnifex literally ripped the poor guardsman apart in a shower of blood, bones and organs.

With nothing to stop it, the monster rampaged down the trench, killing soldiers indiscriminately. Liverchester attempted to rally the Cadians, but finding them too panicked, decided to take drastic action.

The Field Marshal found the Junior Officer's arm, complete with power fist, and took the weapon. He put his power sword into its scabbard and drew his bolt pistol.

Liverchester charged at the monstrous creature, emptying his clip in its face. The micro explosions blasted chitin off of the creature, but failed to harm it.

However, the Carnifex was momentarily stunned, but that was all Liverchester needed. Tossing his empty pistol aside, he drew his sword and thumbed the activation stud.

With a superhuman effort, Liverchester thrust his sword between the creature's armoured ribs, and hauled himself up on this new handhold in one movement.

He swung at the Carnifex's head with the power fist, and made contact with a weak point, smashing its skull and spilling its brain.

The field marshal leapt from the dying monster, and ran as it staggered blindly for a moment, before finally toppling and lying still.

Liverchester tugged his sword from the carcass, and climbed on top of the Carnifex's corpse.

"Men of Cadia! To me!" He roared.

At the other end of the Culverinian Line, The lieutenant of second platoon was busy shooting across the desert at a brood of advancing genestealers.

A demolisher shell hit the middle of the group, destroying most of them utterly in a shower of ichor, but a few, a monstrous Broodlord amongst them, still came on. A nearby heavy bolter swung its fire arc over the remaining Tyranids, and a line of shells tore one of the genestealers in half with a series of explosions. The Broodlord was also hit, but the explosion only chipped its extended chitinous shoulder plate.

The Broodlord leapt into the trench, and gutted trooper Dolen with its scything blades.

The troopers in the command squad backed off, unbelieving as the Tyranid creatures regarded them with… Intelligence?

Dolen murmured, holding his spilled guts. The broodlord looked down, and pulled Dolen's head from his body in a brutal, primeval display of strength.

At this Morgan ignited his flamer, covering the Tyranids and the remains of Dolen in waves of burning fuel. He kept firing until the backwash was blisteringly hot. The lesser genestealer was dead, a charred corpse, but the broodlord was unharmed. It jumped forwards and with one of its hand-like claws shredded Morgan's flak jacket and wounding him.

As Morgan fell, Lieutenant Kennedy fired his laspistol. By some fluke, the beam went between a gap in the Broodlord's teeth and blasted most of its neck out in a shower of cauterised flesh.

While the leader beast was still shocked at the sudden pain, Kennedy jumped forwards and hit it in the chest with his powerfist. Although the blow only cracked a couple of hardened ribs, the monster overbalanced and fell. Venor and Torgus fired at the creature's head with their guns on full auto until there was nothing left of the Broodlord's top half but ash.

The rest of the platoon, inspired by their commander's resilience, continued to fight on.

The Tyranids were also reaching the lines of 1st platoon.

Lieutenant Parlon was firing his plasma pistol into the advancing line of smaller creatures, blasting them off their feet.

However, all at once, the creatures jumped high into the air.

Parlon swore loudly and tried to shoot down some of the creatures as they sailed towards his position. A number of the Hormagaunts were shot from the air by lasguns, but most landed right next to the fortifications, and scrambled up the small embankment.

The first monster to haul itself over the trench wall was speared through the head by a bayonet. The creature still didn't die, so the soldier squeezed the trigger and the Hormagaunt slithered back down the wall, a headless corpse.

However, a large number of the bladed organisms got into the trench, and started hacking at the guardsmen.

Talon met flak armour and bayonet net carapace, but the Tyranids gained the upper hand, starting to kill the hapless squad with ease.

The veteran sergeant stood his ground against two of the creatures. Having lost his pistol, he threw a frag grenade at the feet of one of the beasts, and the blast blew one of the Gaunt's legs off and tore open its abdomen.

The other creature leapt at the sergeant. He held out his chainsword, and the monster could not help but impale itself on the whirring blade. Chunks of offal and ichor spattered the sergeant as the creature died. With shock, he saw a talon burst from his chest, followed by another. The weapons left bloody holes in his torso, and the Culverinian fell, mortally wounded.

The Hormagaunt that had attacked from behind didn't notice Parlon until it was too late, and was decapitated by his power sword.

The ground shook, and Parlon thought a monstrous creature was here to finish off his decimated platoon. However, with a throaty roar, a gigantic tank rolled over the trench, bolter fire issuing all round from multiple heavy bolters.

Parlon watched in awe as the Hellhammer sent to cover his platoon rained death on the Tyranids. A Carnifex stood out amongst the smaller creatures, and the Hellhammer fired its main cannons, utterly destroying the Carnifex and several of the surrounding creatures in one salvo.

All along the line, squadrons of super heavy tanks manufactured in the forges of Culverinia I advanced in a line abreast along with their smaller cousins, bringing death and ruin to the 'bugs'.

With a thunderous roar, a vulture gunship flew low over Parlon's trench, and proceeded to bomb and strafe the Tyranids, gouging great holes in their lines with its heavy bombs.

The platoon cheered, seeing the raptor's head emblem emblazoned on the nose of the plane, showing it was from Hawk squadron.

The Tyranids, now in disarray and most of their leader beasts slain, turned an ran, leaving the plain in front of the trenches piled thick with their dead and wounded.

Despite this, many soldiers now lay dead in the trenches, and many more wounded in the infirmaries, and tank husks were dotted around, prey for the larger monsters' guns.


	5. Chapter 4

Over the next few days, the Tyranids did not attack that section of the line again.

The wounded were evacuated to orbit, where a standard sized troop ship had been converted into a spaceborne hospital.

Five days after the Culverinians had deployed, Varus saw in the bright sky a traitor troopship being harassed by fury starfighters, who had descended deep into the atmosphere chasing their quarry. The troop transporter started losing height rapidly, and trailed smoke. The fighters peeled up and away back into orbit, leaving the doomed transport to plummet to the surface.

Varus watched as the ship fell, crashing in the desert just beyond the horizon. He thought that there would probably be no survivors, but he asked for an observation plane to survey the area in a couple of hours, just in case.

As dusk fell, the plane flew over the smashed wreckage, and saw nothing moving in the smoking crash site.

After night fell, armoured forms started to emerge from the maze of twisted metal…

"I hate this duty" Trooper Savon muttered, to no one in particular.

"Cheer up, mate" Xavier said cheerfully. "Sentries change in half an hour, so you can get back to your billet."

"Sooner the better" Savon replied "I hate that…That _thing_ up there. It seems as though it's watching us…"

With this he nodded at the sky, and the fluorescent red-purple stain in the sky, which bathed everything in a slight tinge. The warp storm pulsed with sickly energies, and sent chills down the spines of those who looked at it.

"I'll get us some caffeine. That should make things a bit more bearable." Xavier said, and wandered off down the trench.

Savon adjusted his grip on his lasgun, looking out across the chill night desert. He glanced up at the anomaly, and gave and involuntary shudder.

The trooper didn't notice the subtle movement in the darkness, and then his head exploded.

"Here we go, mate…" Xavier said as he returned, just in time to see his friend get hit by the bolter round. He dropped the cups of caffeine he was carrying, and smashed the butt of his weapon through the glass covering the alarm button.

The Night Lords marine cursed as the shrill siren went off along the line, and lights began to sweep the desert.

He got up, and started running through the lasgun fire suddenly springing up. He was impervious to the small arms' fire, his power armour easily shrugging off the lasers.

Without warning, a heavy bolter emplacement opened up. The marine was struck in the shoulder guard by a shell and was slowed slightly by the impact, but his ceramite armour protected him from harm.

There was a cry from behind, and another chaos marine staggered and fell, clutching his throat where a round had penetrated his vulnerable neck ring and exploded.

The squad opened fire with their bolters, making rounds slam into the fortifications, and downing a small number of guardsmen.

The marine cursed the imperials for their defensive works, where they had to expend an entire clip to hit one enemy.

Flares shot into the night, and lit up the advancing space marines like it was day.

The sparse fire suddenly concentrated, and another fell, his eyepiece glowing where a lasgun had hit it, going straight through and burning through the marine's eye and brain.

The earth blossomed into clouds of dirt as the distinctive quad launchers opened fire. Two more of the squad were killed by the large mortar rounds; their armour blasted away revealing horrific wounds beneath.

The lone marine leapt into the trench, kicking one surprised guardsman from the firing step with a two footed hit as the marine jumped into the trench.

Another guardsman ran at the marine firing his lasgun. Impact warnings lit up in the marine's visor, but he ignored it, slamming the barrel of his bolter into the man's face.

The guardsman fell unconscious immediately, blood seeping from the injury.

Someone tried to grapple with the marine, but he just elbowed the luckless soldier into the trench wall with rib shattering force.

Despite this, the guardsmen launched themselves at the chaos warrior, and pulled him down with sheer weight of numbers. The marine struggled to no avail, reeling in pain from the bayonet wounds made by Culverinian troopers bayoneting the vulnerable parts of his armour.

The last thing the marine saw was a veteran sergeant hefting the fallen bolter and aiming it at his face.

Varus staggered out of his dugout, trying to get life back into his aching limbs, and surveyed the battle. As he looked along the line, a lascannon hit the dugout, blasting it into fragments of rock in a shockwave that sent the colonel sprawling.

"Enemy tank confirmed! Fire at will!" Came the cry from the nearby veteran squad as they limbered up their own lascannon.

"Show 'em some of the same!" the sergeant roared.

The lascannon fired, sending a beam of energy over the desert. The cannon connected with a corner of the enemy Predator's tracks, and went through like butter. The anti tank weapon hit the vehicle's fuel tank, then the tank exploded, the turret flying high into the air.

With no cover, and the element of surprise lost, the traitors were quickly wiped out in a fierce firefight. The marines were causing the troopers to keep their heads down, but then a few tanks arrived on the scene, and spelled the end of the attack, annihilating entire squads with main guns.

There were few survivors, as the fanatical Night Lords kept charging and killing until they were mown down by overwhelming firepower.


End file.
